


Red

by querencia



Series: he turns me to gold in the sunlight [7]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Awakening, Blood, Borderline Personality Disorder, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Insanity, Murder, red lipstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:59:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/querencia/pseuds/querencia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen of Gotham takes her crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> We see a darker side to the Duchess ft. red lipstick (Prepare for some dark sexy sequels)

Red lipstick was only allowed if Mister J asked especially. Red lipstick was for when he was in a very good mood indeed, and what could put the Clown Prince of Gotham in a better mood than having his Duchess returned to him at last? You were giddy with excitement, and sang along to the poppy tune on your radio as you unrolled your honey-blonde hair from it's curlers.

_"Some boys kiss me, Some boys hug me, I think they're okay... If they don't give me proper credit, I just walk away..."_

Your boudoir was more like a work of art now. Mister J's [laughter](http://www.comicbookresources.com/imgsrv/imglib/0/0/1/joker-harley-c5a4a.jpg) still adorned the walls in black spraypaint, and seeing the odd knife or revolver lying around wasn't uncommon anymore. Your skirts got shorter, and your heels higher. Still your Daddy's pretty girl, but now you walked with a vengeance.

Some nights you'd wake up screaming, and freezing cold. Being strapped in a bath tub filled with ice for eight hours at a time will do that to a person, and Mister J noticed this. The note on the foot of your bed that morning said simply: _'Red lipstick. Collect you at ten. Be gorgeous. J x'_

Being gorgeous was your speciality, and you giggled and clapped your hands with a happy little squeal as you produced the slender black tube of your only and very favourite red lipstick. It tasted like cherries and money, and coated [your lips](http://cache.lovethispic.com/uploaded_images/170057-Perfect-Red-Lips.jpg) like velvet. You made a 'Mwah!' noise, and your lips left a red imprint on the cool glass of your vanity mirror. You mouthed along to the lyrics of the song that still played, but poor [Madonna](https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiKiOTh5s7OAhXoA8AKHfhrDN4QyCkIHzAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DDNSUOFgj97M&usg=AFQjCNFAFjnlkE2kt2-mFtOqiFspUZ4lNA&sig2=8PjKeUZhDzdsUqhsjZKk-Q&bvm=bv.129759880,d.d24) was cut short as a voice at the door cut her off.

_"Cause we are living in a material world. And I am a material girl! You know that we are li--"_

"Miss Y/N."

You clicked your radio off and turned around and beamed at the henchman who waited there. You gave him a signal to say he could enter and he cleared his throat and made a _point_  of not staring at you as he spoke. (Anyone caught staring at the Joker's Duchess was guaranteed to lose their eyeballs, no doubt about it)

"Mister J has brought the car around. It's waiting for you downstairs."

"You're a doll, Robbie." You beamed, stepping happily into your shoes and giving yourself a quick spritz with your perfume. You glanced at Robbie out of the corner of your eye and gave him a quick spray to with a burst of childish giggles before taking his arm and pulling him out of your room happily.

The car drove you across Gotham city. When the door opened, one of Joker's henchmen gave you a hand to help you out of the car, and you gave him a mock curtsy with a giggle. You were at a warehouse, one you vaguely recalled Mister J used for business. Two of his men led you inside, and [your heels](http://66.media.tumblr.com/4fa1ff166c499382c9235be38db2845f/tumblr_inline_ni4xusFVJO1rh84ad.jpg) echoed on the concrete floor of the vast industrial chasm. You could hear a voice at the other end of the warehouse. Distant, but followed by an echoing scream, and then manic laughter. A laugh that made your heart feel like someone had hit it with ten volts of electricity, and you could recognise anywhere.

You saw a man bound to a chair, his back to you, illuminated in a pool of industrial light. Surrounding him were four men with machine guns, and standing before him like a ringmaster, was your [Mister J.](http://www.ew.com/sites/default/files/styles/tout_image_612x380/public/i/2016/04/13/the-joker_0.jpg?itok=XZHmbuzc)

"Aaaah! Here she is!" He sang, grinning. "The _star_ of our show! The _Queeeen_ of Gotham city! My _Duchessss..."_

You walked into the light, and Mister J's manic grin faded into a look of utter lust.

_(Red lipstick was very, very special)_

The light caught on the shimmering fabric of [your dress](http://picture-cdn.wheretoget.it/jesbw1-l-610x610-dress-gold-sparkle-holiday+dress-prom+dress-cute+dress-tumblr-tumblr+girl-sexy-sexy+dress-bodycon+dress-glitter+dress-gold+dress.jpg), and turned you to gold in the lamplight. Mister J's eyes drank you in like you were an oasis in the centre of a desert, and the second your eyes landed on him, your [clutch bag](https://40.media.tumblr.com/fa50a9b3d17a9ed57623797148a8e19f/tumblr_nxkfbzVzjK1tsrp74o1_500.jpg) fell to the floor with a clatter as you went to him like he held the key to the world in his hands. He walked around the chair to meet you half way, and seized you in his embrace with an arm possessively around your waist and the other around your neck. You melted in his hold, and pulled away giggling against his lips.

"Let me _see_ you, Duchesssss..." Mister J hummed, taking your hand at arms length and taking in every inch of you from head to toe. He simply made a twirling motion with a finger, and obediently you turned in a circle for him. He undressed you with his eyes, and you could feel his appreciation in the bruising kiss he bestowed upon you.

"You know how I adore seeing you in _red_ , Duchesss." He hissed against your lips. "Doeees things to me I can't even _explaaain."_

He was cut off my a muffled screaming, and this brought his attention snapping back to the moment. Mister J's face contorted with anger and he turned swiftly, producing a knife from his belt which he drove into the person's left elbow, which was strapped to the arm of the chair with rope.

 _ **"DID YOUR MOTHER NEVER TELL YOU IT'S RUDE TO INTERRUPT, DOCTOOOR?"**_ Joker thundered, bracing his hands on the back of the chair. His voice echoed throughout the warehouse, and your giggles followed suit. Nobody on earth liked to see the Joker angry, apart from you. You thrived on it. It gave you an instant kick to the heart like a shot of adrenaline, and Mister J turned back to you with a dark wicked grin.

"Daddy has a present for you, my Duchess..." He said, his voice dropping vow and dangerously soft as he held out his hand for you to take as your eyes lit up.

"I love presents!" You beamed.

"Close your eyeees, my pretty girl." Mister J grinned, the silver of his teeth shining in the light like platinum as you closed your eyes obediently, and drew your bottom lip between your teeth in excitement. Mister J placed his tattooed hands on your hips and walked you in a circular motion. You could hear sobbing, of course, and a muffled begging, and when you opened your eyes you went somewhat limp in Mister J's grasp. Your lips parted, and throat went dry.

Sitting before you, bound, gagged, and bleeding from the left elbow, sat Doctor Jeremiah Arkham: The director of Arkham Asylum. To you, he was the bonebreaker. The darkness which seeped into any room he entered. The man who had pinned you to a table and watched ten thousand volts of electricity course through your body like an earthquake.

Mister J had dragged the devil himself up from the pits of hell to gag him to a chair and make him proclaim mercy at his feet.

"You remember my Duchess, don't you Doctor Arkham?" Mister J hummed, staring darkly at the doctor from over your shoulder. The Doctor screamed some muffled plea in response and Joker put a hand to his ear and furrowed his eyebrows. His hands left your hips as he walked from behind you to kneel before Doctor Arkham.

"Hm? What's that?" Mister J asked, frowning in mock-confusion. In one swift motion he yanked the knife that was embedded in the Doctor's elbow free, and flipped it from handle to blade in his palm.

"I can't _**HEAR** _ you, Doctor!" He roared. His sudden change in demeanour had the Doctor shaking in his confines. "You know you really shouldn't _**mumble."**_ He split though the gag with a swish of his knife, and that had Doctor Arkham's screams being amplified throughout the warehouse and shaking the walls.

"Shh, shh, shh..." Joker tsked, throwing a leg over Doctor Arkham's lap and dancing the tip off his blade over the seam of his lips. Whimpering, Doctor Arkham muffled his sobs by pressing his lips together and trembling beneath the Joker's wrath.

"Aren't you going to say your _hello's_ , Doctor Arkham?" Mister J asked, sticking out his bottom lip. "Do you not recaaaall my pretty Duchess? Because, ohhh, she remembers you."

His face changed in an instant, and he brought the knife slamming into the wood of the chair just inches behind Doctor Arkham's head, who flinched and let out a broken sob at the force of the blow. Mister J stood up and took a few steps back, eyeing Doctor Arkham with wicked eyes. He inhaled his vulnerability like oxygen, feeding on it the way bacteria feeds on the life of the living. This man had hurt his Duchess. Kept her from him. Locked her away and tortured her. The Joker could have easily ripped Doctor Arkham apart with his bare hands, but that was not why he was here (As tempting as that did sound).

"Are you gonna kill me then, Mister J?" Doctor Arkham asked, voice trembling as he tried to retain a thread of his usual steely cold composure. The same coldness that you remembered painfully.

 _"Heheheheee!_ Oh, no, no, no Doctor! I'm not gonna _kill_ you, why would I?"

The briefest flicker of relief flashed across Doctor Arkham's features as Mister J's tattooed hand gently caressed the cleft of your cheekbone before turning back to him with a smile more sinister than the devil's himself.

"Nooo. No, no, no. I'm going to watch as _my Duchess_ does."

Until this point you had been rooted to the spot. It was easy to be forgetful with your 'delicate personality'. Sometimes things were so distant to you that it was almost as though they never happened, but staring into the bloodshot eyes of Doctor Arkham was as painfully bitter as ripping ice from your bare skin. He began to beg, and your head tilted to the side, lips parted and face utterly expressionless. Mister J slid up behind you like a shapeshifter, voice soft and low against your earlobe.

"How do you want to kill him, Duchesssss? _Hmmm?"_ His voice sent shivers down your spine and made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His hands ran down your ribcage and settled at your hips where he drew you back into him; your back to his chest as you both took in the sight of your prey before you like a pair of vultures.

"You could play _nice_ , I suppose. Give him a bullet right between the eyes, plain and simple. Or you could shoot him in the kneecap. Watch him nearly snap his own spine contorting with the pain."

Mister J's hands began to rub your hips slowly, his voice darkening as Doctor Arkham's pleading drowned out like the end of a record. All you could hear was Mister J's voice, coaxing something out of you like a little devil upon your shoulder.

"You could hang him from the ceiling like a pig in an abattoir. Slit him open at the throat and watch the piggy squeal and squeal until he chokes on his own blood. Or you could peeeel his skin off, bit by bit. How about you throw his body on that electric fence outside, see how he likes the feeling of ten thousand volts?" Joker snarled, his own eyes contorting with fury at the thought alone. With every word from Mister J's lips, a fresh memory appeared at the forefront of your mind like a reel of old super eight footage. It hit you all at once, and stung like an open wound:

.

_"Come on now, Miss Y/N! What are you afraid of? It's only a little ELECTRICITY!" Doctor Arkham cackled, leering over where you crouched in the corner of his surgery, rocking and terrified as you tried desperately to scramble away from him like a wild animal trapped in a corner._

_"No! Please! Please not that! Anything but that! Please Doctor! I-I'll do anything! Pl-pl-please don't do that! Please just let me go home!"_

_"Oh but this is, your home darlin!" Doctor Arkham spat cruelly. "You're not with your Daddy anymore. There is NOBODY who can protect you now."_

_He seized you by the leg and dragged you to the table screaming and sobbing and clawing at the concrete floor with bleeding fingers._

_"Keep screaming!" Doctor Arkham chanted. "Nobody'll hear you!"_

_He forced the clamp between your teeth, and you screamed around it desperately for Mister J. For God. For the Devil. For anyone to help you, but nobody came._

.

Ten thousand volts hits you like a ten ton truck, and lasts longer. You feel it in your fingers and in your knees for hours afterwards. Sometimes days. It becomes all you can think of; it's like hot needles being pushed through your fingernails one by one. You felt it right now. A hot burn in the tips of your fingers which curled deep down into your veins and made your blood boil. Mister J squeezed your shoulder's, his eyes widening gleefully as he watched you the way that ringleaders watch bears rear up on their hind legs for an act at the circus.

He watched you walk slowly towards Doctor Arkham, each echoing footstep of your heels on the floor marking your place as the Doctor cowered before you. It was at that moment you felt closer to Mister J than you ever had. You could sense Doctor Arkham's fear, and you **_loved_**   ** _it_**. It smelt like the sweetest perfume to see the devil himself sobbing at your knees, bound and gagged to a chair soaked in his own piss and begging for his life.

_"PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT! GET TO ANYONE IN THE ASYLUM YOU NEED! I WON'T TELL A SOUL! PLEASE!"_

Oh, the irony.

Your manicured hand enclosed around the handle of the knife that Mister J had embedded in the back of the Doctor's chair. You yanked it free, and watched the Doctor carefully.

"You _scaaaared_ , Doctor Arkham? You a big old scaredy pants?" You asked, voice breathy and soft - Almost lucid.

And you looked at him. Really, really looked at him. And something in you went cold again. 'Drops' Papa used to call them; Where your emotions veered off course like a car crash on an icy road and plunged you into a hysterical fit. Suddenly you wanted to cry, and that just made you angry because Doctor Arkham had made you cry so much already. You definitely didn't like that. You didn't like that he saw your vulnerability because he didn't _deserve_ it. You didn't want him to see he had any impact on you at all, let alone your tears.

One day, you'd learn to laugh in these moments. Mister J would coax it out of you. You'd make quick quips like he did. Play games. Draw out the pain and relish in it. But at that moment all you felt was an anger which boiled in the pit of your stomach like a cancer. You only realised what you had done until you had brought the knife slamming down between Doctor Arkham's ribs, and heard him scream out in pain. When you tugged the knife out again it was coated in blood. Every inch of it. Your face contorted with something dark, and you brought the blade slicing down through the air again, sinking between the slats of his ribs and then into a point near his shoulder. You did it again, then again, then again. Then it was to his stomach, and his abdomen, and his breastplate, and his torso, and his neck, until you realised that you were screaming and there was blood all over your glittering golden dress and Doctor Arkham wasn't screaming anymore. In fact, he wasn't doing anything anymore. The knife fell from your hand to the concrete floor with a clatter that bounced off the walls, and you pushed the hair from your face with bloodied fingers as you turned to Mister J.

And then, _then_ you smiled.

You smiled because he smiled. Mister J smiled at you with nothing but pride, and a dark lust behind his eyes. He had watched with silent manic eyes as you stabbed Doctor Arkham twenty five times and saw something rise from you. That terrified girl hiding in the corner of Arkham Asylum was dead, and something new took her place. You were still his Duchess, of course. His beautiful, sweet, eternal Duchess. But he saw a power in you now he had never before witnessed, and Mister J went to you with open arms

 _"My Queen..."_ He growled, a low hum at the back of his throat as his lips wrapped around those two words like reciting a gospel. His face was soft, but nothing about it delicate. He looked at you with an utter lust and admiration, his upper lip curled and eyes dancing with darkness as he pulled your lips down onto his ardently. He kissed you like he was trying to devour you, and you clung to his shoulders like an anchor.

Mister J fucked you on the bonnet of his car that night, and you screamed his name to the stars above you. It was almost holy, how you came together; a writhing mass of clawing bodies. An animal awoke in you behind the sweetness of your eyes which would become your trademark. With Mister J's [purple crocodile coat](http://static.independent.co.uk/s3fs-public/styles/story_medium/public/thumbnails/image/2015/10/26/15/RFoByiD.jpg) wrapped around your body, your red lipstick smudged, you watched as his men shoved Doctor Arkham's body into a bag and threw it in the trunk of a white van. You never asked Mister J what he did with it. He was the only man you killed who you didn't want to know.

You remembered the blood above all else from that night. The scorching Red of it. It stained the concrete floor of the warehouse. It stained your dress beyond all repair and dried like rust under your fingernails. It marked a new chapter of biblical proportions.

Red lipstick stopped becoming an occasional privilege. Mister J no longer left you in your boudoir circling items out of magazines, or curling your hair. He no longer hid the more 'unsavoury' aspects of his work from your eyes. In fact, he opened them to it. You realised that up until that point you had been a Princess, but no Queen. That night, you took your crown from Gotham City standing at his side, and it _dripped_ with blood.


End file.
